Yesterday I was sick – fever/snot/sore throat/aches sick – and I stayed home from work and sweated it out on the couch until my fever broke. Then I shuffled to Barnes and Noble for some wedding mags, passed out for the 4th time that day, ate a bunch of soup, and forced Anthony to watch Phat Girlz with me.
Yes, Phat Girlz. Had it not been for this glorious film, this post would have been all about how being sick makes me miss my mom, weep weep weep, sad sad sad. But holy shit – Phat Girlz! Do I love a story about some fat chicks who only feel good about themselves after fucking some Nigerian doctors? I do. I really do.
Comedy Genius Jackie Clarke did an amazing podcast last year for her then-radio show, where she and a bunch of peeps went and saw Phat Girlz in the theater while high. I listened to the podcast 8 billion times because it was so fucking funny. I tried to find the podcast, but it is gone. My heart would be broken because of this, if not for Monique and the beehive hairdo she wears for most of Phat Girlz. Seriously, this movie turns every potential frown upside down.
It did not, however, stop me from noticing that my fly was down this morning on my commute to work, until a dude in line for coffee blatantly pointed out my crotch to his friend.